For a glorious eighty-seven seconds, I was the master of my destiny. I had the tokens, the victory, and a clear, unobstructed path to a life of strategic napping. It was a beautiful, fleeting dream.
Then the man from the Clan of the Steel Quill began to speak, and my beautiful dream was stabbed, set on fire, and thrown off a cliff.
"Fix what you broke," he'd said.
I maintained my easy-going smile, but inside, my mind was racing. My internal monologue, which had been planning a celebratory feast of Snapdragon Puffs, was now screaming emergency protocols.
This man was not Grunk. He wasn't Lord Borin. There was no bluster, no bellowing, just the calm, chilling precision of a well-honed blade. His name, I recalled from my preliminary research on the Steel Quills, was Valerius.
He was their chief negotiator. Their viper.
"I believe my contract was to halt the logging, Master Valerius," I said, my tone as innocent as a newborn lamb. "The Wager board seems to agree. Payment has been rendered. My business is concluded."
Valerius did not blink. "Your 'business' created a power vacuum. The Crimson Boar, for all their brutishness, controlled the Northern Timber Syndicate. With their influence shattered, half a dozen smaller, greedier factions are now scrambling for control."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "They are not merely logging illegally; they are clear-cutting the Royal decree and openly warring with each other. Where there was one messy problem, there is now chaos. Your efficiency has bred chaos."
Ah.
So that's what it was. The classic rookie mistake. I was so focused on knocking over the first domino that I failed to calculate the trajectory of the next ten. Or… was this the classic unforeseen opportunity?
The forest for the trees, indeed.
Lyra took a half-step forward, a silent mountain of disapproval. "This sounds like a problem for the Royal Wardens."
Valerius's gaze didn't even flicker to her. His eyes, like chips of grey slate, were locked on mine.
"The Wardens can quell riots. They cannot renegotiate timber tariffs and re-establish syndicate bylaws," he said smoothly. "This requires… finesse. The kind of finesse that can bring a Minor Clan to its knees without a single sword being drawn."
It was a compliment wrapped around a threat. A silken knot is tightening around my neck.
"And what if I refuse?" I asked, gesturing vaguely. "My schedule has just opened up, and I have a pressing engagement with a hammock and a lifetime supply of honeyed snacks."
"Then the fifty Council Tokens you just earned will be challenged in a formal Council review," Valerius stated, without a shred of emotion. "The charge: 'Destabilising Methodologies Endangering the Crown's Resources.' The review process is… thorough. It could take years. Your new Clan would be stillborn."
He wasn't finished. Of course, he wasn't.
"Furthermore," he added, "any future Wagers or monster hunting or even a dungeon raid mission you attempt to claim will face a level of difficulty that would make a saint sweat. You will find yourself buried in so much paperwork that you will never see the light of day again. You will be locked out of the game."
I felt a flash of pure, undiluted irritation. He had me. He had me so perfectly it was almost artistic. This wasn't a boar charging blindly; this was a viper, coiled and waiting, and I had walked right into its strike zone.
I couldn't help but be a little impressed.
My lazy slouch disappeared. I straightened up, the pathetic, harmless contractor vanishing and someone else taking his place. I let my smile drop, and the air between us grew colder.
"I see," I said, my voice losing its airy tone. "You've made your position quite clear, Master Valerius."
"I am glad we understand each other," he replied, giving a stiff nod. "The Clan of the Steel Quill will post a new Wager: 'Stabilise the Northern Timber Syndicate.' The reward will be… substantial."
"No."
The word hung in the air. Valerius's left eyebrow twitched, rising a fraction of a millimetre. For him, this was the equivalent of a full-blown emotional outburst.
"No? After all that information I just provided you with and what will be the consequence if you refuse," he asked with furious tone in his voice.
"No Wager," I clarified, my smile returning, but this time it held a sharp edge. "Wagers are for independent contractors. As of this morning, I am the founding Lord of a new Clan. I am no longer for hire."
I could feel Lyra's incredulous stare burning a hole in the side of my head. I could practically hear her thinking, A Clan of two people and a snack budget is not a Clan, you idiot.
"This is no longer a job you're offering me, Master Valerius," I continued, enjoying the flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes. "This is a matter of inter-Clan politics. If the great and powerful Clan of the Steel Quill requires the aid of… let's call it the 'Velvet Chain' CLAN… then we will need to negotiate a formal Alliance."
Valerius stared at me for a long, silent moment. The bureaucratic mask was still in place, but I could see the furious calculations happening behind it. He saw the trap. He saw the audacity. And he saw that I was right.
"An Alliance," he finally said, his voice dripping with skepticism, "with a Clan that possesses no members, no holdings, and a charter that is still wet with ink?"
I gave him my most brilliant, most infuriating smile.
"It has me," I said. "And it seems I am the only one who can clean up the mess you can't. So, shall we talk terms, ally?"